


Final Shot

by magician



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bingo, Bingo Card Challenge, Challenge Response, Episode Related, Episode: s04e03 Four Point Shot, Gen, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 13:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magician/pseuds/magician
Summary: After the events of "Four Point Shot", Blair decides he needs some protection





	Final Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 Sentinel Bingo Challenge for the prompt "four point shot". 
> 
> Takes place sometime after the episode "Most Wanted", but deals primarily with the aftermath of events in "Four Point Shot". There are also references to the episodes "Siege", "Three Point Shot", "Most Wanted" and "Murder 101". It also diverges from canon sometime between "Most Wanted" and "The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg".

Blair walked into the loft, grateful that it was Jim's turn to cook.  As expected, Jim was in the kitchen.  He must have had a full day himself, because he was cooking his go-to dinner: spaghetti with homemade sauce.  
  
"Smells great, man," Blair smiled. "I'm starving!"  
  
"Miss lunch again, Chief?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess I did.  Anyway, how was your day?"  
  
"Frustrating.  I spent the day in a room full of lawyers.  All the prosecutors sat on one side of the table; the other side had all the lawyers for the various Sunrise Patriots we rounded up from that sub."  
  
"Oh, no, don't tell me they're trying to get that scum plea deals.  They should be rotting in prison for the rest of their natural lives, if not longer."  
  
Jim looked at him.  "Easy, Chief. You're usually not so virulent in your judgement," he said wryly.  
  
"Hey, I'm just sorry they don’t hang people any longer," Blair answered angrily. "Lethal injection is too good for them. Are you forgetting the six officers Kincaid killed in cold blood? I read the statute on what constitutes aggravated first-degree murder. The very first reason is killing cops or firefighters while they're performing their duties. Why the hell was he even out on a work detail instead of being held in maximum security?"  
  
"Because he's got very good lawyers.  Since he didn't pull the trigger himself, he wasn't pinned with the murders."  
  
"Then the D.A. must be completely incompetent, or in Kincaid's pocket.  Because another reason to be charged with aggravated murder is soliciting someone else to do the killing.  So, that's six reasons why he should be put down. On top of that, he would've killed every person in that room if you and Simon hadn't busted in.  Shit, Daryl _still_ has flashbacks from being hung out the window. And Kincaid sure as hell would have pitched me out of that copter without a second thought, once he didn't need me as a hostage."  
  
"But he didn't."  
  
"Only because you risked your life to save me.  And he tried to shake you off that copter.  Then he gets out and the first thing he does is shoot more people and gets Southern to kill Crawford.  Now, I know that Crawford deserved to rot in prison, too, for his part in conspiring with Kincaid, but how come he deserved to die and Kincaid doesn't?"  
  
"I can't answer that, Chief. Sometimes there are miscarriages of justice.  He was one.  But he's in a max prison now, and McBride and Southern and every Sunrise Patriot who was on the sub is doing time or waiting to be tried. You should feel good that you helped make that happen."  
  
"I don't feel good.  I feel angry.  And I don't feel safe, not from psychopaths--especially charismatic psychopaths, like Kincaid.  He'll continue to have followers who will do whatever it takes to get him out, and they'll kill whoever gets in their way without a thought, like they killed those officers. There's _nothing_ you can do and _nothing_ you can say that will make me feel better or different."  
  
Jim didn't know what to say. They ate dinner in silence and Blair spent the rest of the night in his room.  
 

 

*****

  
"Jim. Jim!" Simon called, raising his voice just short of a shout.    
  
Jim startled and looked up at his boss. "What are you yelling about, Simon?"  
  
"What am I-- I've been calling your name and you haven't answered." He lowered his voice. "I thought you were zoned or something."  
  
Jim looked up with a frown.  "No, just thinking." He sighed. "Actually, I'm worried.  Can we talk?"  
  
Simon raised an eyebrow but motioned him to his office.  He closed the door and poured two cups of coffee.  "Have a seat, Jim.  What's on your mind?"  
  
"It's Blair.  I'm really worried about his actions lately.  He's become withdrawn. He works late at Rainier and almost never comes to the precinct unless I ask him to."  
  
"I've noticed he hasn't been around much lately.  I assumed it was mid-terms or something."  
  
"That's never stopped him from juggling his schedule so he could be here." Jim looked down at his coffee. "It hasn't been that long since the Ventriss case and I thought he might still be harboring some resentment over that.  But last night he went on a rant about, of all people, Kincaid."  
  
"Kincaid? What did he say?"  
  
"He went on and on about how evil Kincaid was--practically said he should be put down like a rabid dog.  I swear if Kincaid had showed up at our place, Blair would've taken my gun and shot him himself."  
  
Simon got up to refill his cup, more to buy time than because he needed the caffeine.  "Well, I can't say I blame him, can you? Being in prison only seems to have made Kincaid crazier. I shudder to think what he'll be like if he ever gets out."  
  
"What are the chances of that, Simon? He's facing serious time for breaking out of prison, as well as his part in Crawford's death and holding hundreds of people hostage."  
  
Simon shrugged. "I still haven't got a straight answer about how he ended up on a work detail that should never have included someone who killed police officers in cold blood."  
  
Jim looked at him. "Blair asked the same thing.  Anyway, I'm at a loss as to how to deal with this.  Any suggestions?"  
  
"Jim, aren't you maybe overreacting?  The kid's been able to bounce back from everything that's been thrown at him the last three years.  Why don't you just give him a little time.  Let him focus on school work and keep him away from the sordid underbelly for a while."  
  
Jim didn't look convinced. "I don't know, maybe."  
  
"Sure, give him some support, like thanks and a 'good job, well done', for everything he's done for us.  Hell, I can get him a citation for bravery.  Maybe even a little victim reimbursement?"  
  
"I'm not sure money will do anything; might make it worse.  Remind him that he _is_ a victim."  
  
"Okay, okay.  But when you're talking to him, perhaps suggest some therapy?  It might be a touch of PTSD."  
  
"He might be open to that."  Jim remembered Blair telling him he'd been in therapy when he was young. He didn't think that was a good thing to share with Simon, but it might mean he'd be willing to go.  "If his insurance doesn't cover it, would the PD pick up the tab?  You know he's always a little short on funds."  
  
"Get him to agree, and I'll get it covered.  Now, get out of here.  I've got a report to write."  Simon shooed Jim out the door.  
 

 

*****

  
"Mr. Glimmerman, thank you for seeing me," Blair said.  
  
"Your face looks familiar." The big man behind the desk stared a moment and then snapped his fingers. "The semi-finals Jags game at the Sports Arena last year. You wanted information on Krause."  Blair nodded.  "Well, what is it this time?  You want betting tips on the horses?"  
  
Blair pulled out a photo and laid it in front of Glimmerman. "No, protection."  
  
Glimmerman looked at the photo and raised an eyebrow.  "You want protection for this guy?"  
  
"No," Blair said, his eyes flicking down to the photo of Kincaid.  "I want to protect the world _from_ him. You know who he is." It wasn't a question.  
  
"Yeah, but why should I care?"  
  
"Maybe he doesn't concern you directly, but this guy is a psychopath. Whatever he touches turns to chaos.  Doesn't that affect your business and, ergo, you?"  
  
Glimmerman opened a humidor and pulled out a cigar.  He fiddled with it for a few moments, then looked up at Blair. "Are you talking about an **…** irrevocable solution?"  
  
Blair looked straight into his eyes. "I'm not adverse, since it would be no more than he deserves. But I was thinking more like burying him--he never gets out and his followers don't have contact.  I figure eventually they'll find some other misguided cause to follow."  
  
"And being permanently removed from the limelight and his loyal following would be as good as a death sentence." Blair nodded and gave him a grim smile. "And if I might be interested in taking this… commission, what's my payment?"  
  
"I'm open to negotiation."  
  
Glimmerman laughed, then opened a small box and took out a cigar punch. He opened the cigar's end, then lit it and took a long draw, exhaling in a satisfied manner.  "Mr. Sandburg, I'm having a little fun. Of course, I remember you.  After that time Robert sent you to me, I did a little checking.  You're a wunderkind, or you'd still be one if you weren't futzing around with that cop.  Does he know you're here?"  
  
"No," came the flat reply.  
  
Glimmerman laughed again.  "Hidden depths, Mr. Sandburg?  Well, I have the resources to grant your request, as I expect you know.  What you don't know is that I had a sister who was very dear to me.  She died five years ago."  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that," Blair said sincerely.  
  
"Thank you.  I've been looking out for her only child; raising him as best I can, considering I'm not exactly father material.  I'd like him to go to college and start down a successful path in life."  
  
"But you don't want him to follow in your successful footsteps?"  
  
"No.  I'm not ashamed of what I do or what I've accomplished, but it's not an easy life.  I'm hoping Todd will find something better."  
  
"Is he interested in going to college?"  
  
"Yes.  In fact, he's just been accepted at Rainier for the upcoming semester."  
  
"Does he have a major picked out, or he is undecided?"  
  
Glimmerman took a long draw and blew it out. "Anthropology."  
  
"You're kidding?  Why did he choose that?"  
  
"Why did you? Why does anyone choose a major that seems so impractical?" He shrugged.  "I think he's seen too many Indiana Jones movies."  
  
Blair gave him a wry smile.  "As much as I love studying family dynamics, I suspect you didn't tell me this piece of personal history to pass the time.  What do you want me to do, and how will that square us?"  
  
"I need someone who can keep an eye on him; report back to me if he gets off track or on the road to potential trouble.  I want someone who will help him map out his curriculum, so he doesn't waste his time.  I can afford to send him to the best colleges, obviously, but I don't want him looking at it as an extension of high school.  I want him to learn good study habits, which will translate to good work habits.  And I want it done discreetly, so he doesn't realize I'm involved.    
  
" _He_ needs someone to get him on the right track and keep him there.  He needs to know the practical aspects of how to use his degree once he gets it. He might need help with his study habits so he doesn't get behind.  I'm sure you've had a mentor, a coach, a counselor, or a tutor; someone who can guide him to the path of success."    
  
Blair looked at Glimmerman, wondering if he used the word "guide" on purpose, but he didn't seem to place any extra emphasis on it, so he let it go.  He thought about what this man wanted for his nephew and how feasible it might be.  "If he declares Anthropology as his major, or even declares it as a tentative major, it would be easy for me to become his faculty advisor.  He wouldn't have to know that I asked for him; he'd just be told that I was assigned to him.  That would cover setting up his curriculum, so he gets the correct credits, mentoring him through the process, and coaching him through the rough parts.  If he starts down a wrong path, I can schedule additional counseling sessions.  I can get an early warning from his teachers on how he's doing, so I can set up tutoring or other resources to help him. Of course, I will keep you in the loop on everything."  
  
Glimmerman finished his cigar and tamped it out.  "That's exactly what I had in mind.  I think I picked the right person for the job."  
  
"One caveat, though," Blair said. "There's no guarantee I'll still be at Rainier through the four years it will take him to get his B.S. I'm there on the sufferance of the Chancellor.  I only got back in her good graces after a falling out she had with me over a student."  
  
"Ah, the Ventriss-Nadine mess," Glimmerman said.  
  
Blair's eyes widened in surprise.  "I didn't realize you focused on such small details."  
  
Glimmerman shrugged. "You never know when a little thing might become something bigger.  Norman Ventriss and Henry Nadine are powerful businessmen.  When Brad and Suzanne were spoiled brats sponging off their parents, it was none of my concern.  It became significant when they turned into thieves and murderers, ones who almost toppled their families' empires."  Blair nodded in understanding.  
  
"In any case, I didn't become successful by always playing it safe. Mr. Sandburg, I think you're a good bet and I'm willing to take a chance on you. Let's shake on this contract in principal.  We'll work out further details later." With that, he stood and held out his hand.  
  
Blair took it firmly.  "You have my word, if anything happens where I can't continue, I'll make sure someone takes my place.  Todd will have a good education and a great college experience.  Your sister would be proud."  With that, he turned and left.  
 

 

*****

  
Jim walked into the loft, sniffing in appreciation.  "That smells like chicken and garlic-roasted potatoes, Chief," he said.  
  
Blair looked up from his laptop and rolled his eyes. "Sounds like your nose is in good working order.  But you didn't smell dessert?"  
  
Jim took another deep breath. "Chocolate cake?"  
  
"Close. Brownies.  One of the students I'm tutoring got an "A" and brought me them in appreciation."  
  
"Well, send her a thank you from me."  
  
"I will, but it's him."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah.  A freshman.  He was kind of all at sea when he started.  I was assigned to be his faculty advisor.  He's ambitious, taking a heavy load, so I also helped him out with a little tutoring.  I advised him to take basic cooking as an elective.  I told him unless he's married to Betty Crocker, he was going to need to learn how to feed himself and the best way to do that was to learn how to cook.  Thus, the brownies."  
  
Jim came out of the kitchen, munching on a brownie and carrying a glass of milk. "He gets an 'A' from me," he said.  
  
"So, anyway, did you hear anything about Lindsay and Harry?" Blair asked.  
  
"Yeah.  Lindsay is going to get the reward money for turning Harry in.  And Harry's doing better health-wise.  Turns out the prison doctors are pretty competent. They removed some tumors he didn't know he had; that helped slow the cancer and he's getting chemotherapy.  He's also helping the D.A. put away Jack Cryss.  After Cryss learns how much hard time he's facing, he'll be sorry I didn't kill him with that bullet."  
  
"Wow," said Blair.  "All's well that ends well, I guess."    
  
Jim nodded, then hesitated.  "I had some other news today.  It's about Garrett Kincaid."  
  
"What now?"  
  
"It's really weird. He was being transferred to the State Pen, because it's the only Supermax prison in Washington.  Chief, he never arrived; he's disappeared."  
  
"Shit! What's going on, Jim?  Why can't they hold onto this guy?"  
  
"I don't know.  But the really weird part is the chatter among the Sunrise Patriots.  The Fibbies have a couple of guys undercover with the Patriots, trying to get a bead on what to do to disband them.  Apparently, none of the Patriots know where Kincaid is either. The rumor they've heard is that the Feds took him out quietly, figuring cutting off the head of the snake would kill the organization."  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"I don't think anyone in the FBI has the brass to kill him. As criminals go, he's small potatoes compared to others they deal with--no one would risk their job to do it.  But they might have decided to transfer him out of state.  Maybe they thought someone in Corrections is a sympathizer, which would explain how he got that work detail in the first place." Jim stopped when he noticed Blair's heart was hammering.  "Are you okay, Chief?"  
  
"No, I'm not okay.  The last time he disappeared he came right back to Cascade and threatened a lot of people I care about."  
  
"Whoa, just hold on.  He had an agenda then; the fact that you, Daryl and Simon were in the stadium was a coincidence.  Yes, he threatened you, but it was out of opportunity.  He's not targeting you."  
  
"But he's targeted you."  
  
"And I'll cross that bridge if and when, not before.  There are just too many other criminals that need my attention.  Now, I'll put out feelers to see if I can find out anything, but if the Feds have him, there's nothing I can do."  Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder.  "Okay?"  Blair nodded.  "Now, how about dinner?"  
 

 

*****

  
After dinner, they were sitting in front of TV, watching the Jags lose.  The brownies and two large glasses of milk were on the table in front of them.  
  
"Jim, I've got something to discuss with you, and it's serious.  But first, I've got to ask you a question."  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"Does Simon… value me? Or is he still just putting up with me?"  
  
"What, you fishing for compliments?"  
  
"I'm serious, here."  
  
Jim looked at him.  "Yeah, he thinks you're an important part of his team.  I know he was a little short with you on the Ventriss case, but he told me he regretted putting you in that position. But understand," Jim continued, "he was pressing you like he would any of us--he actually forgot your loyalty was to the school and not to him. Why are you asking?"  
  
"I'm thinking of changing my thesis.  I've already talked to my advisor." Jim opened his mouth, but Blair put up his hand. "Please, let me finish.  I would love nothing better than to tell the world about you, the sentinel and you, the man. About what you've accomplished by using your senses--things that have saved countless lives. And about how part of being a sentinel is that drive you have to protect your tribe.  
  
"But the simple truth is that you’re the only sentinel I've found in all my years of looking.  Yeah, sure, Alex had all five senses and the visions, but she didn't have the protective drive that I believe is part of what makes someone a true sentinel.  But even if she did, that's still only two people.  There's no way, no matter how I write it, that someone isn't going to put two and two together and figure out that I'm writing about you.  I just can't guarantee your anonymity and, in all honesty, I can't write a doctoral thesis on such a small sample population."  
  
Shocked, Jim stared at him for a moment. "So, what are you going to do?"  
  
"Well, I've learned quite a bit about police work in the last few years.  I _could_ write a paper using our cover story about the police as a closed society…"  
  
Jim smiled and shook his head. "Wow, wouldn't that be ironic?"  
  
"Yeah, but I'm thinking I might be more saleable if I switched from Cultural to Forensic Anthropology. I could write about the evolution of forensics in the law enforcement and justice systems.  How things that we take for granted today were not accepted at first.  How it's making more certain that the right person gets convicted and the wrong one gets exonerated.  
  
"The only problem I see is that I'm more likely to have to work with Forensics instead of you.  That is, unless Simon can justify my being there." Blair looked at Jim hopefully.  
  
"Well, you know how Simon is--always complaining about how his budget is getting cut…"  
  
"I notice he never complains about how he gets all my expertise for free…"  
  
Jim chuckled. "There is that.  Okay, Chief, tomorrow we start the 'Sandburg as MCD Special Consultant' campaign."  
  
"I like the sound of that!"  
  
"And, Chief?  I know you worked really hard on the sentinel thesis.  I'm sorry you won't be able to publish it.  But, to tell you the truth, I'm kind of relieved.  I really didn't know how you were going to hide my identity either."  Jim gave him a warm, grateful smile.  "Now, since the Jags are getting pounded here, how about we find something else to watch and finish these brownies?"  
  
"Sounds great."  Blair heaved an inner sigh of relief.  Everything was falling into place.  With the new thesis and switch to Forensic Anthropology, he could easily stretch out his time at Rainier for a few more years--long enough to honor his commitment to Todd.  He could practically _feel_ the last wall of tension between Jim and himself crumble after he told him about abandoning the sentinel thesis.  If Simon could get him a part-time consultant job, so much the better.  If not, he'd apply to Cascade PD once he got his doctorate. The threat to his best friend from an evil man had been permanently removed and was rotting his miserable life away in prison. He smiled as he picked up a big brownie.  Life was good.  
 

 

*****

  
"Where the hell am I?  Do you know who I am?" Garrett Kincaid had been screaming variations on those two themes off and on for hours. The last thing he remembered was learning he was being transferred to another facility.  He'd received word from McBride's soldiers that they would be using the opportunity to break him out.  He'd smiled as he drank his coffee, knowing that he would be free to lead the Cause in mere hours.  
  
Instead, he'd woken up in a cell made entirely of metal walls.  There was a window in the door, but it was screened and shuttered.  He realized that the coffee had been drugged. He didn't know how long he'd been out, but it must have been at least a day, because he was hungry and thirsty.  He'd screamed himself hoarse, but no one had responded.  There were no facilities, and he'd finally had to suffer the indignity of pissing in the pot provided.  He was just about to start his refrain again, when the shutter opened.  "It's about damn time," Kincaid said.  You're in a world of trouble.  When you find out who I am, you're gonna regret doing this." He peered out the window, but the screen obscured the face of the man on the other side. He could make out dark hair and a moustache, but that was all.  
  
"I'm afraid you are mistaken, Senor," the man said in softly-accented English. " I know exactly who you are, and it is no mistake that you are here.  Someone must hate you very much.  This will be your residence for as long as you live.  In a few hours, someone will come to explain how you will conduct yourself, and the consequences you'll face if you do not.  In the meantime, I'll be sending you a meal.  As the saying goes, 'bon appetit'." The shutter closed.  
  
Kincaid threw himself against the door, but the only thing he got for his trouble was a bruised shoulder.  As promised, the meal slot opened and a tray was shoved inside.  Kincaid snorted. Beans and rice, tortillas to use instead of utensils and a cup of water.  If he hadn't been so hungry, he'd have thrown it against the wall.  Instead he sat down to eat, secure in the knowledge that his men would find him and get him out.    
  
He just _knew_ they would.  
 

 

~~the end~~

**Author's Note:**

> I hope no one minds Blair being a little darker than I usually write him. He was really pissed. ;^)


End file.
